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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29551302">but it may just be a lunatic you're looking for</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathect/pseuds/cathect'>cathect</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Boys (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Frenchie Is Also There, M/M, Porn with minimal Plot, Season 1 Episode 3: Get Some, Slight Voyeurism, handjobs, slight exhibitionism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:29:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29551302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathect/pseuds/cathect</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“We all get amped up after our first murder, don’t we Frenchie?”</p><p>Hughie blushes. He’d forgotten Frenchie was in the room.</p><p>“Eh,” Frenchie says, sounding vaguely disinterested. “I don’t think I’d say—?”</p><p>“Ignore him,” Butcher cuts across. “Bastard doesn’t know what he’s on about.”</p><p>-</p><p>or: butcher lends a helping hand.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>but it may just be a lunatic you're looking for</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i wrote this to distract myself from the fact that most of my state is without water or power. stay safe out there, y'all!</p><p>thank you to erin for beta'ing and for being the best cheerleader, as always! and also for helping me pick a title!</p><p>title taken from "you may be right" by billy joel.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hughie knows he’s taking too long to clean up.</p><p>He’s been standing at the sink for nearly ten minutes now and hasn’t even turned it on. Blood drips steadily into the metal basin, along with God knows what other parts of Translucent, and Hughie shuts his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath before he opens them again, half-expecting— half-<em>hoping</em>— to wake up in his bed.</p><p>But this isn’t a bad dream, and he isn’t waking up. He’s still at the sink, Butcher and Frenchie are still cleaning up behind him. He triggered that bomb and blew up Translucent— he <em> killed </em>someone. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t feel as bad as he once thought he might in this situation. Not that he’d ever quite pictured himself murdering a Supe via ass bomb, but the sentiment still stands.</p><p>And so does he; despite his shaky legs and roiling stomach doing their best to bring him to his knees, Hughie’s managed to keep himself upright with the help of a white-knuckled grip on the sink. He hasn’t caught a glimpse of himself, and doesn’t plan to. He knows what he looks like. He remembers what A-Train looked like that day on the street, covered in parts of Robin that Hughie never expected to see. The thought has bile rising in the back of Hughie’s throat, and he swallows it down with gritted teeth. It would be easy enough to empty his stomach into the sink next to everything else, but Hughie thinks he maybe deserves the bit of discomfort after what he’s just done.</p><p><em> Drip, drip, drip. </em> The puddle of goop in the basin grows steadily bigger, grosser. Hughie can hardly look at it. There’s a small <em> splat </em> as a piece of Translucent’s skin falls from Hughie’s hair, and his stomach lurches again.</p><p>He hears the sound of Butcher setting his shovel down, hears his footsteps against the concrete, and still manages to jump when he speaks. “Hughie,” he says gently.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Hughie lies, still not making any effort to rinse himself off. “Just— need a second.”</p><p>Butcher sighs and steps away. There’s a rustling, plastic shifting against fabric and, when Butcher returns, his gloves and apron are gone. There’s a smear of blood on his forearm when he reaches for the pull-down faucet Hughie’s been hanging onto. He doesn’t ask Hughie’s permission before prying it out of his hand and turning on the spray.</p><p>The water is warm when it hits the back of Hughie’s head. The pressure is a little high, maybe, but it almost feels good. Butcher runs his fingers through Hughie’s hair, loosening up what’s somehow already managed to dry there, and Hughie closes his eyes to keep from getting anything in them.</p><p>“There’s a good lad,” Butcher murmurs, probably to himself. He rubs his thumb against the skin behind Hughie’s ear, and Hughie can’t quite help the way he presses into the touch. He’s still shaking, but Butcher is gentle as he cleans him up, and Hughie finds his body relaxing more and more by the minute, even as his blood rushes hot and angry in his veins.</p><p>He’s almost disappointed when Butcher turns the water off and calls for Frenchie to throw him a towel. Hughie keeps his eyes closed, even as Butcher towels him dry, quick and light like you would dry off a child. It’s only when Butcher tugs him upright that he blinks his eyes open and looks around.</p><p>“Sorry about all the…” Hughie trails off, not sure how to describe the blood and guts lining the concrete walls, the trash cans full of what’s left of Translucent.</p><p>Butcher actually seems amused. “Don’t be stupid,” he says, far too breezily for the subject. “You did us a favor.” He dries his hands on the damp towel, running it up his arms as well to clean them.</p><p>Frenchie bangs his shovel against his trash can to knock what look like bits of intestine into the bag. Hughie focuses his gaze on Butcher. “What are we going to do with him?” he asks, hating how small his voice sounds.</p><p>“Ah, we’ll take care of it,” Butcher promises him with a smile. He takes a less-than-subtle step to his right, just barely blocking Hughie’s view of Frenchie where he works. Hughie appreciates the effort, even if its effect is minimal.</p><p>Hughie chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of anything they may have missed. “The-the, uh, tracking chip,” he says.</p><p>“Already disabled,” Frenchie says behind Butcher, who turns and shares some unreadable expression with him. “Sit down and relax, Petit Hughie.” Frenchie offers Hughie the smallest of shrugs and goes back to his task.</p><p>But Hughie <em> can’t </em> sit down and relax. He has no idea how Butcher and Frenchie are being so nonchalant, can’t even wrap his brain around it. Even without taking his own moral dilemma into consideration, there’s still far too much to deal with here. Gary’s shop and Translucent’s remains and the blood Hughie can see on the ceiling that’s definitely not going to be easy to wash away. The growing number of things they need to take care of chase each other around Hughie’s head until he feels dizzy.</p><p>He doesn’t even realize he’s swaying where he stands until Butcher reaches out to steady him, taking him by the arms.</p><p>“Hey,” Butcher says, dipping his head a bit to meet Hughie’s eyes. “You did what you had to do, alright? You helped us out.” His voice is low and comforting.</p><p>Hughie’s breath comes in quick, short gasps, and his heart pounds away behind his ribs. He can’t tell where the residual adrenaline ends and the panic begins, can’t separate his thoughts into anything intelligible. He can’t make sense of much of anything besides Butcher, strong and sure in front of him, still holding him by the arms, still holding him steady.</p><p>“You did good,” Butcher says, moving one hand to Hughie’s cheek.</p><p>Hughie’s eyes flick back and forth between Butcher’s, his breath caught in his throat. Then he’s leaning forward before he can stop himself.</p><p>Butcher doesn’t even seem surprised when Hughie kisses him. He doesn’t push Hughie away, or even stiffen up; it almost feels like he was ready for it. He kisses Hughie back slowly, thoughtfully, like they’ve got all the time in the world. Like Hughie didn’t just make them the most wanted people on the planet. Hughie lets himself be kissed, lets the scratch of Butcher’s beard and the warmth of his body calm him down and set his nerves on fire at the same time.</p><p>“Sorry,” Hughie mumbles the moment the kiss breaks, suddenly self-conscious of everything from the kiss to his own shirtlessness to the spot of blood he spies on one hand.</p><p>Butcher just chuckles and tilts Hughie’s chin up with his thumb. “Nothing to be sorry for, love,” he assures, just as easily as he’d assured Hughie they’d clean up his mess. “We all get amped up after our first murder, don’t we Frenchie?”</p><p>Hughie blushes. He’d forgotten Frenchie was in the room.</p><p>“Eh,” Frenchie says, sounding vaguely disinterested. “I don’t think I’d say—?”</p><p>“Ignore him,” Butcher cuts across. “Bastard doesn’t know what he’s on about.”</p><p>It startles a laugh out of Hughie, and he shifts where he stands, only to come to a singularly mortifying realization: his dick is hard where he’s still pressed up against Butcher, who hasn’t seemed to notice. </p><p>“Uh, sorry about— that,” Hughie says eloquently, starting to take a step back.</p><p>Butcher’s sudden grip on his waist doesn’t let him go very far. “Like I said,” he says, his hands calloused and warm against Hughie’s skin. “Nothing to be sorry for.”</p><p>“Butcher.” Hughie laughs again, a little more strained this time. “C’mon, man, that’s—?”</p><p>“What?” Butcher raises an eyebrow as he tugs Hughie back to him. “You’re saying you <em> don’t </em> want help with that?”</p><p>Hughie blinks at him in surprise. He can’t deny that Butcher is attractive, that kissing him felt thrilling and freeing and all together incredible, but he wasn’t expecting this. He glances past Butcher’s shoulder at Frenchie. The other man gives no indication that he’s heard anything, but the room isn’t exactly big.</p><p>“Don’t look at him,” Butcher says, leaning his head into Hughie’s line of sight. “Look at me. He’s not even there.” But Frenchie <em> is </em> there, and Hughie isn’t even that surprised to find the idea only spurs him on.</p><p>“You really don’t have to,” Hughie says after a beat, one last ditch attempt that he already knows is going to fail miserably.</p><p>“You’re right,” Butcher replies. He squeezes Hughie’s hips and wrings a shudder from him. “But I’m offering.”</p><p>Hughie can’t think of another reason to say no, so he doesn’t try, and Butcher meets him halfway for a kiss that’s messier and hotter than the first. Hughie drops his mouth open without any prompting and is rewarded with Butcher’s soft groan of approval as he licks inside. Butcher walks him backward until Hughie’s hips hit the metal counter, jostling them a little, and then he’s working at the button of Hughie’s jeans. After a few moments of blind fumbling, Butcher finally pulls away to see what he’s doing. He gets them open a second later and reaches a hand into Hughie’s boxers, his other hand braced on the counter behind them.</p><p>“Fuck,” Hughie breathes as Butcher’s fingers wrap around his cock. It’s a little dry, but Butcher’s grip is perfect as he starts to stroke, and Hughie’s eyes slip closed at the feeling. It’s been a while since something as simple as a handjob felt this good, but Hughie attributes that to all the adrenaline and the thrill of being touched by someone new— though he can’t quite deny the heat that curls low in his belly when he thinks about the fact that it’s <em> Butcher </em> touching him.</p><p>Butcher leans down to press his lips to Hughie’s jaw as his hand speeds up, trailing kisses up to his ear. “That’s it, sweetheart, just relax.” Hughie can’t help doing as he’s told, relaxing in Butcher’s arms as much as he can without melting into a puddle on the floor. “I’ve got you,” Butcher says, and Hughie believes him.</p><p>Hughie turns his head, silently begging for a kiss that Butcher gives him immediately. It’s mostly teeth and tongue, too difficult to keep up when Butcher thumbs over the head of his cock. Hughie whimpers, knows he’s trembling like a leaf against Butcher, but can’t bring himself to care. Not when Butcher is shoving him towards an orgasm like it’s his fucking job.</p><p>“Butcher,” Hughie gasps.</p><p>Butcher chuckles low in his ear. “I know,” he says, like the smug fucking bastard he is. “Come on, darling, come for me. I want to see it.”</p><p>Hughie chokes on a moan, burying his face in Butcher’s neck as he comes. His orgasm washes over him in waves, and Butcher doesn’t let up. He strokes Hughie through it until Hughie shoves at his hand weakly, oversensitive. He leans back, breathing heavy, and looks up at Butcher.</p><p>There’s silence for a few moments, and Hughie finds it in himself to be worried he’s just fucked something up, but then Butcher’s kissing him again, soft and lazy, fingers still hooked in the waistband of Hughie’s boxers. When they break apart this time, Hughie knows he’s blushing, overwhelmed and grateful in equal measure.</p><p>“Thanks,” he says softly, because he doesn’t know what else to say. It sounds dumb even to his own ears— <em> Hey, bud, thanks for the handjob! </em> he hears in a cartoonish voice inside his head— but Butcher just shrugs, gives Hughie an easy smile.</p><p>“Any time,” he says as he grabs Hughie’s bloody shirts from the counter and wipes his hand on them. He turns and walks over to Frenchie, who takes the clothes with only the slightest scrunch of his nose before throwing them in one of the trash cans and setting them on fire.</p><p>Once his limbs feel less like jelly, Hughie tucks himself back into his jeans and does them up again. Butcher’s already got his apron and gloves back on, back to the task at hand. Frenchie hands Hughie a bundle of white fabric that turns out to be a chef’s coat when he tugs it on. The only thing on hand, apparently. Hughie suddenly wishes he were home, if only to grab some clothes and other things from his room.</p><p>With a sudden determination, Hughie heads for the door.</p><p>“Oi, where d’you think you’re going?” Butcher asks, shovel in hand once again.</p><p>Hughie turns on his heel. “I’m going home. I need clothes.”</p><p>“We’ll get you clothes,” Butcher replies, but Hughie is already shaking his head before he’s done speaking.</p><p>“I want <em> my </em>clothes,” he says, holding Butcher’s intense stare. He’s not backing down, not about this.</p><p>A bit of back and forth earns him the right to leave, Frenchie by his side (rather than a pair of broken legs). They climb into Frenchie’s van and drive in silence, but that doesn’t last for very long before Hughie feels that bubble of panic again.</p><p>“Frenchie—?”</p><p>“Do not sweat it, mon ami.” Frenchie’s eyes don’t leave the road, but he almost sounds amused. “I see nothing, I hear nothing. I wasn’t even there. All is well, no?”</p><p>Hughie wants to point out that there are many, many things in their combined lives that are <em> not </em> well right now, but he can’t quite find the energy after everything else that’s happened today.</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” he says, turning and leaning against the passenger door. “All is well.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>don’t forget to drop a comment letting me know what you thought! (please do not comment spoilers! i'm still on season one!)</p><p>come visit me on tumblr @devilstrip!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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